


Glory

by Ori (magnetium)



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-31
Updated: 2007-01-31
Packaged: 2017-12-29 05:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetium/pseuds/Ori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Walter Huffnagel's funeral, Toby and Jed talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glory

Jed Bartlet is an observant man. It’s one of the traits that have gotten him to his current position: his ability to see into people, to pick up on their subtle nuances. He doesn’t always make it obvious that he knows things about people without them telling him – a good card player knows that you hide your hand from the other players until it will benefit you. Jed prides himself on being, among other things, an excellent card player.

When Toby arrives back at the White House from the funeral, Jed sees the slight redness that smudges the skin around his eyes. He sees that Toby walks a little heavier than usual, his expression changed from the dourness of earlier to a deeper sadness. Jed gestures to the sofa, then sits down across from Toby in the Oval Office.

“How was it?”

Toby shrugs, shaking his head. “It was fine. It… wasn’t enough.”

“You did more than enough, Toby.”

Toby clenches his fingers into a fist, then spreads them back out again in the air. “No, sir. I just gave him a ritual he’d already earned. The man fought in Korea, he received a Purple Heart, for Chri – ” He stops himself, taking a breath. “He died, cold and alone, on a park bench. He died just a few feet away from a memorial that honours veterans.”

Jed sits back against the sofa and watches Toby struggle with this. It’s in times like these that he is reminded just how good of a man Toby his. He is reminded how honourable his spirit is. This is why Toby writes speeches for him. No other man could capture passion in his words the way Toby can, because very few possess the passion itself.

Toby looks up at him, conscious of being scrutinized. “We asked him to die for his country, but after he said yes, we let him die for nothing.”

Jed can hear his own father, intoning somewhere deep in his consciousness, telling Jed about the brutality of war and the privilege of serving one’s country. He takes a breath.

“Do you really think he died for nothing?”

“I think he deserved a lot more than he was given, sir.”

Jed glances up at the closed door of the office. “Mrs. Landingham go home?”

It takes Toby a second to process his words. He clears his throat. “I think so.”

“Thanks for taking her with you. It meant a lot to her.”

Toby’s shoulders raise slightly. “It was no problem.”

“She lost her boys, you know. In Vietnam.”

“I know.” Toby’s gaze falls back to the carpet.

Jed sighs and stretches his arms out, feeling so thoroughly tired that his bones almost ache. Still, sleep is a long time off, and won’t last for long. Live now, sleep later: the motto of all who serve in this House. When he speaks, his head is tilted slightly back, so that his words float up to the ceiling.

“War is a terrible thing.”

Toby’s tone is wry as he quotes. “War is hell.”

“Yes. Hell on earth. For the soldiers that fight and for the leaders that send them to their deaths. God, I wish I – ” Jed stops and lets his head drop back down. There are some things he cannot say now, not while he is the President of the United States.

Toby is watching him, and their eyes meet for a second. His unspoken words are heard, because Toby is a master at plucking nonexistent words from the air.

“My father used to talk to me about war, you know.” Jed drops his arms back down, letting them slide down the back of the sofa. “He never served… he was in college. He used to talk about things like duty and patriotism, all with this kind of tone to his voice… like violence was glory.”

“Peace is more glorious than violence, Mr. President.”

Jed nods. “Yes. And the awe-inspiring destruction of our enemy is not less worthy than wisdom in the face of bloodlust.” He glances outside, where the Secret Service agent’s breath is creating tiny clouds of steam. “My father wouldn’t have understood that.”

“It’s a good thing we aren’t our fathers.”

They both pause to reflect on Toby’s statement, then Jed chuckles. “A damn good thing, Toby.”

Jed stands up, and Toby also gets to his feet. “I’ve got a few phone calls to make still.”

Toby straightens his suit jacket. “Yes. Thank you, Mr. President.”

“You’re going home now, aren’t you?”

Toby stops to think about this for a second, then shakes his head. “I’m going to go get some work done.”

Jed doesn’t say anything about this. He knows that in this kind of mood, his own impulse is to pour a glass of Scotch and have a long talk with Abbey or Leo. When Toby has things weighing on his mind, he doesn’t talk them out – he writes them. Jed can only hope that some of what he writes tonight will go into a speech he can deliver, because whatever it is, it will be heavy with passion and elegance.

“Have a good night, sir.”

“Good night.” Jed watches Toby as he slips out of the office, then he walks over to his desk, where his briefcase is mostly filled. He puts his suit jacket back on and gathers up his things – all the papers and folders that he must bring with him to the Residence. When he’s ready, he opens the door to the portico and steps out, breathing in the crisp night air.

His steps down the agent-lined walkway are slow and thoughtful. An agent opens the door for him and wishes him a good evening. Jed nods, too absorbed in his own thoughts to display his usual politeness.

In his study, he makes his calls, then spreads out his reading for the evening, but he can’t focus on the pages in front of him. In his mind, he hears his father, talking about the haze of battle. But now he also hears Toby, talking about the gloriousness of peace.

Jed is not a man that enjoys violence. He has the ability to steel himself in order to accomplish what needs to be accomplished, but the atrocities of war bite at his very nature. He remembers Delores Landingham, and the sacrifices she has made, and he grows angry that she has had to give up so much.

Finally, he realizes he isn’t going to get any more reading done tonight. He pours himself a finger of Scotch and drinks it, then goes to bed. Abbey is already asleep, and she turns without waking, putting an arm around him. The feel of her unquestioning affection, in the darkness of their shared bed, calms him. But still, it takes him a while to find sleep, and when he does, his dreams are full of mothers crying for their children, who he has sent off to war. This doesn’t last forever, though, and by the time the sun has started to rise, he has slipped into a quieter sleep, one that gives him real rest.

Around 2 a.m., Toby gets up from the chair behind his desk, then leans down to save a document on his laptop – a speech about the dues we owe those we ask to serve, and the unseen price of bloodshed in the name of one’s country. It is a speech that will never be delivered, and he knows this, but he feels better for having written it. When he gets into his own bed that night, he sleeps without dreams, and although the sleep isn’t long, it’s enough.


End file.
